Wayward Traveler
by Callisto211
Summary: Picking up after the season 2 finale, Sam and Dean encounter a strange creature that may reveal more than either one of them is willing to admit.
1. Chapter 1

Wayward Traveler

"I'm sorry, honey, but I swear I'm on my way now."

The Mercedes GL450 SUV twisted its way around the curvy lake shore road; the headlights blaring through the heavy fog that had shrouded the small town of Naples, Maine in the early evening hours.

"Okay, Shawn, be careful. I don't want you to hurry; it's just that you've missed dinner with Luce the last three nights in a row, and now's really not a good time."

"I know, honey," Shawn replied earnestly, winding his way around yet another bend in the road, "but I have to keep taking all the extra shifts at work I can get. We need the money. Look, I'll be home in ten minutes, I promise. Have Lucy set the table for me so we can sit down right when I get there."

"Okay baby," his wife replied, comforted by his reassurances.

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

Shawn hung up his cell phone and reached over to place it back in his glove compartment. He took his eyes off the road only for a moment but when he looked back up he saw a strange green light stranded right in front of his car.

"Shit!"

Shawn swerved and slammed on his breaks at the same time, sending his SUV screeching straight into a wild thicket on the side of the road. He turned off the ignition, breathing heavily from his sudden fright. As he was claming down, Shawn looked in his review mirror to make sure that whatever had been standing in the road was okay, but he couldn't see much due to the thick fog. He rolled down his window and leaned his head out of the car.

"Hello?" he called into the still night air. "Hello, is anyone there?" He waited for an answer but all he could hear were the gentle waves of the nearby lake lapping at the shore.

Shawn felt panic begin to set back into him. _What if someone is really hurt and can't call for help? _Shawn put the key back in the ignition, intending to drive back down the road to see if there was anyone wounded. For all he knew, it could have been a stray deer that had run back off into the woods; he was pretty sure, after all, that he had missed hitting whatever had been there. But then what could explain the bizarre green light?

He turned the key and heard his engine sputter. "Damn it."

He tried it again and the car started briefly. The lights began to flicker, the radio rapidly changed static-filled stations on its own accord, and the engine made a strange whining noise before dying completely.

"Figures."

Shawn reached back into the glove compartment and pulled out his cell phone. "Call Home," he said loudly and clearly. The phone began to ring on the other end and Shawn heard his own voice respond as the answering machine clicked in.

"Hello, you've reached the Sampson's. We can't come to the phone right now so please leave a message after the beep."

"Abby? Abby, if you're there pick up. I had an accident, the car won't start." Shawn waited for her to pick up and start panicking, ready to reassure her that everything was okay and he just needed a ride but there was no answer. "Abby? Come on, I'm really not trying to get out of dinner, I swear! Someone may be hurt!" Still no answer. Shawn took the phone away from his ear and checked his reception. His phone was dead, no warning. "Weird," Shawn said confused, tossing it aside into the passenger seat.

He tried the key in the ignition one more time, but having the same result, decided to give it up and trek back on foot to make sure no one needed help. He stepped out of his car and on to the slick road. He wasn't entirely sure how far he'd gone before being able to stop his car, so he just started walking in the general direction, calling out for anyone to hear him.

Shawn had walked quite a way without finding a clue as to what could have been in the road, and was just considering giving up and heading back to his car when in the distance something caught his eye.

Shrouded in the fog but not more than fifteen feet away was the small green light that had been the cause of Shawn's accident.

"Hello!" he called, but again there was no answer. _Perhaps whoever is carrying the lantern is too shaken up to answer,_ he thought, taking a few more steps closer to the eerie green glow. However, the closer Shawn got to the object, the further away it seemed to move. "Wait," he called to it as it continued to push farther away. "I just want to make sure you're alright."

The light stopped moving and as Shawn took a few more tentative steps toward it he could clearly see the silhouette of a small, delicate person through the lit up fog.

"You're… You're just a child!" Shawn said shocked as he reached a hand out to the young girl. But just as his hand got close enough to the lantern, the light went out and Shawn was stranded in a stark darkness.

Both the fog and the night had settled so firmly now that Shawn could not see his hand in front of his own face. He didn't bother calling out again for the girl had not replied even when Shawn knew she was there. Instead he took a few more steps forward, feeling around him. When he was quite sure the girl had gone, he turned and attempted to find his way back to his car.

He had taken a mere five steps when all around him the fog was suddenly lit with a fascinatingly bright green light. Shawn stopped instantly and turned slowly to find the source of the strange radiance. Shawn felt his heart skip a beat as he stood staring into the face of the small girl who was holding up the lantern filled with green fire.

"L-l-lucy?" Shawn managed to stutter. "Luce, what are you doing out here!?" Shawn kneeled down next to his daughter and reached out to hold her hand. "Baby, you're so cold. How did you get out here? Where's your mother?"

"Daddy?" Lucy asked curiously.

"Yeah, baby, it's me," Shawn replied, scooping his daughter into a tight hug. "You know you shouldn't be out anywhere alone. It's dangerous out here. God, I'm just glad you're okay. Come on let's get you home."

"We can't, your car's broke, Daddy."

"How'd you know that, baby? Did you come near Daddy's car? Why didn't you answer me when I called?"

The young girl just stared at her father with her big innocent blue eyes.

"Where'd you get that lantern, baby?"

She continued to stare, not saying a word.

"Come on, Lucy. Let's get out of here."

"No!" Lucy cried, pulling her hand out of her father's. "Let's go play, Daddy!"

Before Shawn had realized what was happening, Lucy was out of sight again, trailed only by the shadow of green light from the lantern she carried with her.

"LUCY!" Shawn called, chasing after her. "Lucy, come back right now!"

Out on the lake, an old fisherman sat in a small motor boat, reveling in his good fortune. He'd gone out late in the afternoon but was stranded by the quick onset of the thick fog. With nothing else to do he dropped a line, and before he knew it, he had an entire boat stocked full of fresh water trout. He'd drifted along most of the evening trying to find his way back to shore through the fog. The lake was dead calm making it difficult to hear the water lapping at the shore, but the old fisherman had much experience in his many years living on the lake and he listened with all his might until he found himself in sight of a small dock on the port side of his vessel.

He had heard the water but the fog was still too thick to see anything until the dock was suddenly illuminated by a greenish glow that lit up the low hanging clouds around it. The fisherman was just steering his way over to the dock when he heard a man calling frantically. The fisherman cut his engine to listen more closely.

"Lucy!" The fisherman heard the man call frantically. "Lucy, get back here! Come back!"

It appeared to the lone fisherman that the man was chasing the green light, but, as he noticed, the light had moved off the dock and was hovering over the open lake. The fisherman quickly saw that the man in pursuit hadn't yet realized this, and if he continued at his pace, he'd fall right off the dock.

"Hey!" The fisherman called, but he was still too far away from the dock. He leaned over and turned the key on his boat. The engine stammered and stopped. He tried again and again but to no use.

"HEY!" He called as loud as he could to the man whom he was now sure had no intentions of stopping before the end of the peer. "Hey, lookout!" But try as the fisherman might, he was too late. The man on the dock ran straight off the end in his panic, twisted awkwardly in mid-air, and fell with a mighty splash into the lake.

The fisherman waited, barely breathing, to make sure the man was alright, but he did not resurface. He tried his key again but the engine continued to sputter and spurt half-heartedly. The fisherman scanned the calm lake and was abruptly startled when the green light which was stationary right over where the man had plunged into the icy waters disappeared altogether, once again shrouding the fisherman in complete and utter darkness.

**Supernatural**

"Can I get you anything else, sugar?"

Dean lifted his head out of the newspaper he had been researching and was pleasantly surprised by the young blonde waitress in front of him. He let the pen he had been unconsciously chewing hang on his lip.

"'Sugar,' huh? That's a new one," he replied sweetly. "Your number sure would be nice."

The waitress rolled her eyes. "I was asking if you wanted sugar for your coffee…"

"'Course you were…" Dean winked and pulled the full cup of black coffee toward him and the waitress left unfazed. Dean watched her go and saw Sam coming back to the table.

"So, bathrooms in this place up to par?" Dean asked as Sam took a seat opposite his brother.

"Let's just say I don't think Robin Leach will be stopping by anytime soon."

"Yeah, that's nothing new for us," Dean said, circling something in the paper and then passing it over to Sam. "I think I got one."

Sam picked up the paper and read the obituary Dean had circled. "'Shawn Sampson, 36, Naples, loving husband and father. Drowned in Long Lake under unclear circumstances.' Unclear circumstances, what does that mean?"

"Glad you asked," Dean said smiling and turning the page back. He pointed to a column on the right with his pen.

"'Another Mysterious Death Dumfounds Local Police,'" Sam read. "'Shawn Sampson, 36, of Naples, died mysteriously last Friday on his way home from work. Sampson was reported missing when local authorities found his car Saturday morning, crashed and abandoned, off Long Bend Road next to Long Lake with no trace of Sampson. Local townsman Bob Michaels reported seeing Sampson while fishing late Friday chasing a mysterious green light.

"'Oddest thing," Michaels said to reporters, 'There was this green light hoverin' over the lake off Long Point Peer and he was chasin' it, callin' out to it. I tried to call to him to stop but he fell right in and ne'er came back up.'

"'Michaels was stranded on the lake due to heavy fog conditions when he claims to have seen Sampson fall into the lake. Authorities dragged the lake and found Sampson's body where Michaels is said to have seen him. Michaels claims to have tried to get to Sampson after seeing him fall in but was unable to re-start his boat.

"'[The boat engine just died, right there," Michaels said. 'Never happened to one of my boats before; must have been some sort of electrical mishap. Then that light just disappeared and I was stranded again.'

"'Clues to the earlier crash show Sampson swerved in the middle of the road. Information as to why is still unclear as is any further descriptions of what Sampson may have been chasing. Sampson was the third victim claimed by the lake in the last month alone.'"

"What do you think?" Dean asked when Sam had finished reading.

"Three drowning victims on a popular local lake in a small town all during one month is slightly suspicious," Sam answered taking a drink of his coffee. "And that boat not starting…"

"And how about that eerie green light? Sounds fun, right?"

"We've looked in to a lot more for a lot less."

"Great," Dean said. "Let's get going. Florida's a long drive!"

"Florida?" Sam questioned. "Dean, you know this is a local paper, right? They're talking about Naples, Maine."

"Maine?" Dean groaned. "Man, I thought we were gonna get to go somewhere fun."

Sam watched as his brother grumpily packed away the newspapers. "Let's go to Florida."

"What?" Dean said, looking up at his brother skeptically.

"Why not? Like you said, let's go somewhere fun. Hey, maybe we'll even find a case while we're down there."

"Sam…"

"I'm sure there are plenty of problems in Florida that we can deal with—"

"Sam."

"This doesn't sound like a good case anyway, ya know; probably some drunk guy thinking he was seeing things—"

"Sam!" Dean shouted loud enough that people in the small diner stopped their own conversations and turned to see what was going on. Sam stopped talking and looked bashfully at his brother. "Stop it okay," Dean said angrily, but lowering his voice. "Look, it's possible this is one of the bastards we let out, alright? So it's our job to send the son of bitch straight back to hell. And even if it's not, we can't let it keep taking all these innocent people."

Sam sat quietly, staring at his folded hands on the table.

"I just… This is what I want to do, Sam. I figured you of all people would understand that." Dean took another drink of his coffee while his brother sat motionless across from him.

"Why aren't we getting help from Bobby?" Sam asked. "That's what we should be doing."

"For some possible water wraith? Do you honestly think we need help?" Dean laughed.

"That's not what I meant," Sam said seriously. "We should be spending every second trying to get you out of—"

"No Sam, what we should be doing is trying to kill all the sons of bitches that escaped. That's the number one priority. Now come on. We're going to Maine."

Sam sat disgruntled and didn't say anything as Dean waved the waitress over and handed her his credit card. She returned shortly with the receipt.

"Ha," Dean laughed to himself, tucking the credit card back in his wallet.

"What?" Sam asked, speaking up. Dean looked down at the receipt smiling, and then handed it over. Sam took it and noticed a phone number scribbled on the back.

"Damn, I'm good!"

Sam rolled his eyes playfully and handed the receipt back to Dean, smiling.

"Too bad I don't have enough time to take her out," Dean said, crumpling it up and throwing it on the table. "Oh come on," he said seeing the gloomy look that came across Sam's face. "I meant 'cause we're leaving for a hunt."

"Dean—"

"Give it a rest, Sam," Dean said, finding it especially difficult to further attempt a cheerful mood. "Finish your coffee and let's go."

It had been almost two months since the Army of Darkness, as Dean had recently taken to calling it, had escaped from the Hell Gate in Wyoming. Surprisingly, time had passed normally for a while. Dean and Sam had spent some time at Bobby's researching old legends and scouring their father's journal over and over again. They listened for any indication of possession or demonic activity and distributed case lists through the hunting community to those willing to take up the call Ellen had put out.

Unfortunately as time went on Dean found himself alone more and more often. Sam had become so obsessed with finding a loophole in Dean's deal that he had stopped hunting. Try as he might, Dean couldn't convince Sam to leave the books and research and actually go after one of the demons. Sam and Bobby just continued to pour through book after book, leaving Dean to join Ellen and sometimes Jo on hunts when staying inside became just too much.

After about a month of endless searching wielding absolutely no results, Dean gave Sam an ultimatum: Stay at Bobby's alone and waste time searching for a way out while countless innocent people died or go back on the road with him and try to hunt these things in the flesh…so to say.

Sam had refused to give up until he saw Dean pack his things in the Impala and drive off. Frantic, Sam called his brother who refused to come back and pick him up unless he promised to drop his search. In the end Sam agreed to let it go for at least a little while and accompany his brother on a few hunts, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on him. Sam didn't think Dean was necessarily in the right mind set to be left to hunt on his own; he wasn't entirely sure what his brother was capable of these days.

The short drive to Naples, Maine was stiflingly uncomfortable. Sam was still angry at Dean, having spent weeks on the road with him, following up on stupid leads and wasting time on pointless hunts that any other hunter could have handled when they should have been back at Bobby's researching demonic contracts. Dean was tired of trying to keep the peace with is brother. Saving people and hunting things was what they did; nothing was going to change that, especially now. However, the more they tried to be angry at each other, the more they realized how important it was to reconcile. Of course, neither wanted to dare admit the other may be right, so the boys kept their mouths shut until the air had cleared and then went about their business as if nothing had happened.

The town of Naples was small and surrounded by lakes. Brandy Pond and Long Lake lined the edges of the downtown Causeway, which seemed rather empty for a Saturday evening as Dean drove through. On the North shore of Brandy Pond was a small motor motel that seemed to Dean like a nice place to stay. Parking outside the main office, the brother's entered the Romah Motor Inn in slightly better spirits.

"Look Sammy," Dean said, pointing to a sign on the door, "WiFi! That's like heaven for you, right?"

"Whatever; just get us a room." Sam rolled his eyes and waited in the lobby by a half dead potted fern as Dean went to the counter.

"Hello," Dean said to the girl who was flipping through an old People Magazine. She looked up and smiled pleasantly and Dean realized just how attractive she was. "Uh, hello," he repeated, more smoothly. "Special Agent in Charge John Panozzo, that's my brother Special Agent Chuck Panozzo, FBI." Dean pulled out a badge and held it open in front of the young woman. She barely took her eyes off Dean and didn't notice that the name Dean had just given her didn't match the name on the badge.

"What can I do for you, Special Agent… in Charge?" She asked, closing the magazine and leaning on the counter in a very flirtatious manner. She leaned in a little further and gave a small wave to Sam. He smiled uncomfortably. This was Dean's area of expertise.

"Well, we just need a room for a few days. We're up here working a case. Top secret, you know, very dangerous."

"Oh, yes, very dangerous."

"So can you help us with the room…?"

"Carrie," she said with a giggle. "I think I can come up with something." She winked and left the counter to head in the back room.

Dean turned around to face Sam and mouthed "Oh my God" to his little brother. Sam looked as if he was about to respond but then Dean noticed his eyes shift focus. Turning back around, Dean was surprised to be greeted by a different woman, also extremely beautiful but not quite so…friendly.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" She asked, adjusting the small brown wire framed glasses on her petite nose and tucking a long strand of dark hair behind her ear. She was wearing an old Styx t-shirt.

"Uh…" Dean said speechless. "Uh, yes," he recovered, finding his voice, "yes, we need a room, please."

"Name?" She asked without looking up but quietly typing on the computer in front of her.

Dean cast a weary look back to Sam. "Uh, John Panozzo."

The woman looked up, a small smirk on her lips. She nodded towards Sam, "Let me guess, Chuck?"

Sam looked down at the ground guiltily until the woman turned her attention back on the computer, then he shot a very pissed off glare in Dean's direction. Frustrated that his plan had already been foiled, Dean rubbed his eyebrow with his middle finger deliberately in Sam's direction.

"Let's try real names this time, shall we?" The woman asked, addressing Dean specifically.

"Dean and Sam Werner."

"Method of Payment?"

Dean pulled out a credit card with his alias and dropped it on the counter. The woman checked it twice before sliding it through the machine and handing him a room key.

"Number 9," she added, writing down on the Motel planner. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, "can you tell us if there's anything to do in this town?"

She looked at them both curiously. "I take it you're not water sport fans then?"

"Well," Dean replied, "with all those mysterious deaths on the lake recently, I'm not so sure if I'm up for quite that sort of adventure."

"Maybe you've come to the wrong place then," the woman said quickly and testily. Dean was taken aback by her sudden rudeness. "I'm sorry," she added quietly. "If you're not that into the lake, there's some great old antique stores downtown."

"Oh, boy," Dean said with a look at Sam. "Well, we sure do love antiquing, but before we head on out to do that, actually, we are interested in the lake. Is there anything else you can tell us about what's been going on out there?"

The woman looked ashamed for a moment.

"It's okay, we're with the FBI, researching the local environmental hazards, making sure they're not affecting the lake in any way that could be leading to the deaths of all the local people." Once again Dean flashed his badge. The woman was still too upset with the questioning to pay much attention to it.

"It's just everything that's been happening has shaken our town pretty hard," she said. "I mean, three people in one month? It's strange, you know? And there have been stories of course. My father actually saw one of the victims drown. He swore there was someone else out there."

"Really?" Sam asked, piping up from next to the brown fern. "If you don't mind me asking, who's your father? We'd like to have a word with him, if that's alright."

The woman looked from Sam to Dean and back again. She seemed resolved to the fact that at least Sam looked trustworthy enough. "Bob Michaels. He owns his own bait shop down on the Causeway. It backs up to a boat rental on Long Lake, but he closes early on Saturdays. You'll have to wait until the morning."

"Thank you for your help, Miss Michaels, is it?" Dean asked.

"Yes. Tayla Michaels."

"Thank you, Tayla," Sam said, holding the door open so Dean could follow him out and back to the car. "We'll be in touch."

"And you may want to water that fern," Dean said, pocketing his badge and pointing towards where his brother still stood. "You know, save the planet and all. Go Earth!" He fist-punched the air, smiled and left the office with Sam.

Tayla watched them go, confused but oddly impressed. Her young employee came out of the back room.

"Wow. Real FBI Agents," she squealed. "And totally cute. I think the hot one liked you!"

"Don't you have something you should be doing?" Tayla asked.

The young girl rolled her eyes playfully. "I guess I'll go take out the trash."

"Please do."

Tayla watched her go and only when she was sure she was gone did she let herself smile.

Dean drove down the lot and parked in front of the very last room. He and Sam removed the bags from the trunk and unlocked the door. The motel room was fairly large, equipped with mini-fridge, cable TV, microwave and even a coffee maker that Dean was rather excited about. Sam dropped his bags by a small wooden table and immediately pulled out his computer.

Dean sat down on one of the burgundy comforted beds and took in all the fishing décor. There were 4 different kinds of stuffed fish on the walls, a large picture of a serene lake over the headboard of his bed and one of an empty fishing boat over Sam's. There was a small trout magnet with its mouth open on the fridge and plush towels labeled with many types of fresh water fish in a basket leading to the bathroom. On the nightstand was a Bible, an alarm clock, an old telephone and a local map. Dean leaned over and grabbed the map, opening it curiously.

"Hey," he said as Sam looked up from his computer. "That guy's shop isn't far from here, right back the same way we drove in."

"Yeah, but it's closed. We'll check it out in the morning."

"Well maybe we can find out where that Sampson guy lived and check out his place. Maybe talk to his wife."

"It's a little late, don't you think?" Sam was back to typing on his computer, only responding shortly to Dean's questions.

"Well don't you think it's a little strange she didn't report him missing herself?" Dean inquired, trying to gain back Sam's attention. "I mean, her husband doesn't come home from work, you'd think she'd be a little suspicious. She wasn't quoted or mentioned in that article at all."

"Yeah," Sam said, not looking up. "Weird. Maybe she had her reasons."

"Reasons? What reason could prevent her from noticing her husband was missing, Sam?"

Sam sighed, annoyed. "I don't know, Dean. Maybe the guy was a jerk."

"Whoa, Sammy. Bit harsh for you, isn't it? I'm usually the one being rash and insensitive." Dean smiled but Sam didn't take any notice. "Dude, what the heck are you doing that is so important? A little early for porn, isn't it? I mean, I'm still in the room, man." He got up off the bed and walked over to his brother.

Sam quickly tried to close the page he was looking at but Dean saw it before he could shut off the computer.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted, stepping away from his brother and putting his hands on his head, frustrated and pissed off. "Didn't I tell you to stop looking that shit up?"

Sam only looked on bashfully for a moment before growing angry himself. "You know what, Dean. I'm sick of this devil-may-care attitude you're pulling on me lately. What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to end up condemned for all eternity?"

"Drop it, Sam, okay?"

"No," Sam said, standing up and facing his brother. "No, it's not okay. I'm not gonna drop it. I told you I'd leave it alone for a while, and I did. But it's been two months, Dean, and we haven't a single idea how to get you out of this yet."

"Maybe that's saying something," Dean shouted angrily.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean? You know, you may not give a shit about what happens to you, but that doesn't mean other people don't."

Sam and Dean just stood, staring at each other, both too angry and both believing they were right.

"Sam, I'm asking you, give it up."

"No. No, Dean. I'm not gonna stop looking. You didn't give up on me, not even when I asked you to. How can you expect me to just roll over and accept this?"

"Fine." Dean walked over past Sam and grabbed his computer.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"Making sure you keep your end of the bargain." Dean opened the door of their room and walked outside. Sam followed, close on his heels.

"Dean, what are you doing? Put that down; we need that for the case!"

"We've got books."

Sam almost laughed at how absurd that sentence sounded coming from his brother but he stopped short as he saw Dean drop the computer in the middle of the parking lot. It fell flat and hard. Sam looked at his brother incredulously.

"You're just gonna leave it there? What, don't you think I'll go and grab it?"

"No, actually, I don't. And even if you did, it wouldn't matter." Dean walked up to the Impala and got in.

"Dean, come on, what are you doing?"

Dean started the car.

"Dean," Sam warned, watching as he brother put the car in reverse. "Dean! Get out of the car!"

But Dean didn't get out of the car. Instead, he stepped on the gas and Sam watched in absolute horror as Dean backed right up over the laptop.

Dean put the car in drive and drove back over it, just to make sure it was completely destroyed. Then he re-parked the Impala back in the same space, got out and walked past Sam whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief. Dean walked back into the room, leaving the door open, and collapsed on his bed.

Sam went out and scooped up the utterly worthless piece of machinery that had moments before been his only chance of finding a way to save his brother. He walked back into the room, cradling the pieces in his arms. He dumped it all on the table.

"Might as well throw it in the dumpster out front," Dean said when he heard the broken bits fall on the wooden table.

"Dean…" Sam started, but he was too angry to continue.

"Maybe that will get the idea through that thick skull of yours," Dean said, kicking off his shoes and rolling on to his side. "I'm going to bed. We'll go to the shop in the morning." He reached over and turned the light off.

Sam stood in the middle of the dark room, fuming. He couldn't figure out why his brother was being so difficult.

"You know what, Dean? Fine," he said in the dark. "You don't care about getting out of this then neither do I. Go to hell for all I care. Heh, maybe it's what you've wanted ever since Dad died."

"What?" Dean said sitting up in bed. "Don't bring Dad into your own stubborn problems."

"My problems?" Sam said with a laugh. "Right… I'm not the one that has problems letting go."

"Whatever, Sam."

"That's it, isn't it? You'd rather be dead than be alone, right? You know what that is Dean? That's selfish… You want me to drop this?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean said loudly.

"Fine," Sam said, unfazed. "Fine. I'll drop it. Deal with it yourself." And with that, Sam swept the broken computer off the table and into the garbage can by the door.

Dean laid back down in the darkness and heard his brother climb into bed. He stared at the side of the wall, thinking about everything Sam had just said to him. Maybe he had overreacted, but Sam just didn't understand. Or maybe he did, and maybe that was the real problem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sam didn't remember sleeping much that night but when he rolled over onto his back, the sun was already starting to creep in through the heavy curtains. His head was pounding and he closed his eyes to get some relief which only made the pain more intense.

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the cold grey ceiling splashed with warm orange rays that had fought their way through the fish laden curtains. He knew why his head was hurting; it was guilt. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face and heard his own voice pounding in his ears. _You don't care about getting out of this then neither do I… Deal with it yourself. _

Sam propped himself up on one of his elbows keeping his back turned away from his brother's bed and punched his pillow hard. It attempted to fluff itself from the force of Sam's fist but gave up and sunk halfheartedly. He lay back down on it all the same and attempted to go back to sleep.

_Go to Hell for all I care._

Sam grunted into his pillow as the guilt rushed back over him. He squeezed his eyes tight forcing as much pain to his forehead as he could take. After all, he deserved it. When he couldn't take it anymore, he sat up, threw off his covers and turned to his brother.

"Dean."

Sam's guilt and frustration immediately sank to the bottom of his stomach like a heavy rock dropped into a bathtub as he sat staring at the empty bed beside him. The covers on the bed were tussled and wrinkled but there was no sign of his brother.

"Dean?" Sam jumped out of bed quickly and hurried over to the bathroom. Dean wasn't there.

Sam's heart felt as if it had skipped a beat but that was impossible since it was beating so fast he was afraid it might burst from his chest. He ran to the door of the room and threw it open. The impala was gone. The front space just outside their room only contained a few pieces of Sam's laptop that he had missed picking up from the night before. Frantic, Sam grabbed his cell phone off the table by the door and dialed Dean's number. It was ringing!

But Sam's sudden relief faded as quickly as it had come as he realized the ACDC sound was coming from inside the hotel room. Walking over to Dean's bed, Sam saw the small silver phone lying on the bedside table. He hung up his own phone and Dean's stopped almost instantly sending a shivering chill down Sam's spine.

Hurriedly, Sam rushed to the front office. He walked in and was greeted by a middle-aged man whom he had not seen before.

"I'm sorry, sir," the man behind the counter said looking at Sam, "you can't come in here like that." He pointed to a sign by the front door that read "No shirt, No shoes, No service."

Sam looked down at himself. In his confusion, he'd forgotten to get dressed. He stood in the lobby, shirtless, barefoot and only wearing long plaid pajama pants.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, "but I really need to ask you something."

"Sorry, can't help ya, sonny, the sign and all…" The man turned his attention from Sam and started typing again on his computer.

"Look," Sam said feeling rather bold in his panic, "I'm looking for my brother. He's missing."

"Missing you say?" the man asked as he stopped typing and looked up at Sam concerned. "Name?"

"Dean Werner."

"When did you notice he was gone?"

"Just now… our car's gone too but I have no idea where he is or where he could have gone and he left his cell phone. He never leaves his cell phone."

"Has he ever disappeared before without letting you know where he's gone?"

"No… well yes, but not like this."

The man looked up at Sam quizzically. "Could anyone else have taken the car? Would he have loaned the keys to anyone?"

"No, no Dean wouldn't let anyone else drive that car."

"Is there anyone he could have gone to visit?"

"No," Sam replied, rubbing his still aching head. "We're in town, uh, doing some research. We don't know anyone."

"Is it possible he may have gone out to do research without you?"

Sam didn't answer right away. Would Dean have gone out by himself to finish the case? After all, Sam did say he wasn't going to help him anymore…

"Sir?"

"Uh… we, uh, we did have a fight last night…"

"Ah, yes, we got some complaints of raised voices." The man stopped writing down all of Sam's information and looked up with a warm understanding. "Son, why don't you go on back to your room and see if he comes back. If he's not back by, say, Noon, come on in and we'll get the local authorities to look into it. How does that sound? After all, this isn't the type of town where people just disappear."

"Yeah, okay." Sam agreed but didn't feel any better. He checked his watch and realized he had over five hours until Noon. He nodded his thanks to the man again, then left the office and walked back into the early morning sun.

"Sam?"

Sam turned so fast at hearing his name he almost ran into the person standing behind him. Though he knew from the quiet female voice that it couldn't be his brother, he was desperate to get information.

"I thought that was you. I'm just getting here."

"Carrie? Hey, have you seen my brother?" Sam asked hurriedly.

The young girl blushed and smiled sheepishly. "Yes, actually I have."

"You have? Oh, thank God. Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, he just went back to the room I think. I heard he came in to the office about 2 am last night looking for something to do."

Sam looked at her curiously but wasn't really listening anymore. All of his attention was drawn back towards his motel room where he could see the Impala glistening beautifully in the sunlight.

"Thanks," Sam replied, leaving Carrie to start her shift.

Sam walked back into the motel room but there was no immediate sign of Dean. He was just about to call out for his brother when he heard the shower start. For the first time that morning, Sam's heart rate settled to a normal speed. He sighed heavily and took a seat at the table waiting for his brother to emerge.

Dean came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go. He was caught off guard by the fact that Sam too was up and dressed. Dean looked over at him, surprised to see that his brother looked as tired and worn out as he felt considering Sam slept more than he did.

"Hey," Dean said tentatively turning his attention on his duffle bag and rummaging for a pair of socks.

"Where the hell were you?" Sam replied coldly. He was sitting at the table, but with no laptop present he looked awkward and out of place.

"I went out."

"Yeah, I notice that," Sam said angrily. "Didn't concern you to leave a note or at least take your cell phone with you in case I needed to get a hold of you did it? Where did you go anyway?"

"For a drink."

"That must have been one hell of a drink… Did she have a name, or did you not bother with that either?"

"Sammy, look, I didn't mean to be out all night, alright?" Dean said avoiding eye contact with his brother. "I just went to go see if there were any good bars in town and one thing led to another… well, you know the rest." He smirked at his brother but his attempt at light-hearted humor was poorly received and he felt some of Sam's anger filtering into himself.

"Is she even old enough to drink, Dean?"

"What?"

"Yeah, I know, Dean. I just ran into her outside."

"It's not like you actually care, anyway. 'Deal with it on my own,' right?"

An icy silence fell between them and both brothers busied themselves with their own thoughts, desperately trying to avoid each other's hesitant glances.

Dean had been thinking all morning of how he was going to handle his actions from the night before and this was certainly not how he had hoped to approach it. It wasn't his fault she had wanted him to stay for breakfast and it wasn't like he had been in a hurry to get back to his brother.

But the longer Dean sat there in silence the more he realized that Sam wasn't still angry from the night before. His brother had simply been worried about him. Dean tried to imagine how he would have felt if he'd woken up to find Sam's bed empty and his cell phone on the night table. Hell, Dean would have had the entire town alerted to Sam's disappearance by now. Instead of easing the tension, this realization just made Dean feel even worse. He was ashamed of his actions from the night before and now he was afraid that he may be working this case alone after he'd worked so hard to convince Sam to come with him. He didn't really know what had come over him or why he wasn't letting Sam help him. Maybe it was because he was afraid if anyone tried to meddle in the deal, the demon would take it out on Sam. Or maybe—

"Dean?" Sam asked, stealing Dean's attention from his own thoughts and breaking the stolen silence.

"Yeah?"

"About last night…"

"Sam," Dean started. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay. Then I'll talk. You just listen."

Dean averted his eyes but sat on the bed and pulled on his socks not saying a word.

"I didn't mean what I said last night, about wanting you to…well…"

"It's okay, Sam. We both said some things."

Sam looked uncomfortable but determined. "You're right, Dean. We said some things. And I didn't mean any of it."

"It's okay, Sam—"

"No, Dean. Last night I said that I wasn't going to help you anymore. Well, that was a lie. Nothing you say is going to change the fact that you're my brother, and I'm going to do anything I can to help you. I need you to understand." Sam watched his brother but Dean didn't look up. "Look before you say anything, I just want you to know that I'm going to help you with this case. But after this, we're both going back to Bobby's, at least for a little while, and then we'll discuss going on other hunts. But you gotta keep your actions in check and we've got to do this like what we are, Dean."

"We're hunters, Sam," Dean said desperately. "This is what we do."

"No Dean, we're a family first. You taught me that."

Dean looked at his brother and saw the same desperation on Sam's face that he had once felt himself when he had thought he may have to kill his brother. But Dean had saved Sam… couldn't that be enough?

"Uh," Sam said awkwardly, breaking the awkward silence that had followed his last statement and trying to change the subject before Dean could come up with a witty counterpoint. "So, who should we go talk to first?"

"The witness," Dean said, taking the new subject and running with it. "I found out a few interesting things about his statement last night. I figure we can get anything supernatural this Bob Michaels guy may have seen and add in the basics from the wife, ya know, any strange behavior prior to the incident that can coincide with the eye-witness account. Plus I already got us an appointment. Oh, and I want to see a copy of the police report that was taken on scene."

"Wow, got this all planned out already?"

"Yeah, well I had some time to think last night…" Dean saw Sam's eyes dart to his feet and he got the strong impression that Sam had been thinking about other things all night. "Come on, let's go." Dean grabbed his coat and the map off the table.

"Uh, Dean?"

"What?"

"The address to the Sampson house… it was saved in my computer."

"Heh, of course it was," Dean laughed guiltily. "Well we could ask what's-her-name, she may know."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Carrie?"

"That's it."

Sam stood outside the office adjusting the tie on his black suit as Dean went inside to get the address. As soon as Dean went in, Sam thought that maybe letting him go alone wasn't such a good idea. He was just debating going in and rescuing the poor girl from Dean's endless flirting when his brother came strolling out the front door.

"Do I even have to ask if you got any relevant information? I'm not so impressed with your machismo dating skills anymore," Sam said exasperated.

Dean shot him an offended look and handed him the piece of paper. Sam looked down. There was a name and an address.

"Wow," Sam said impressed. "What, was she not your type?"

"I don't have a type, Sammy," Dean answered, smiling. "They're all my type." He grabbed the paper back from Sam and turned it over, holding it up again so Sam could read the back. "Seven digits, and ya know, I didn't even have to ask this time."

"You know, why do I even bother?"

"Ha ha!" Dean slapped Sam on the back and walked confidently back to the car. Sam sighed and then followed his brother, smiling at the absurd normality of the situation.

Bob Michael's bait shop, Early Bird, wasn't very hard to find. The small store was in the middle of the Causeway and backed up right onto Long Lake. It was connected to a boat rental shop and both stores were some of the few places downtown open so early.

Dean got out of the car and looked up at the little green hanging sign above the door. It was in the shape of an octagon and featured a caricature worm hanging over a silver hook, smiling deviously as if he had a secret plan in attracting the fish in the background that looked on eagerly. Dean tilted his head sideways and muttered "Huh" in an amused tone.

They walked inside and heard a quiet "ding" as the door pulled a string connected to a bell announcing their presence.

"I'll be right out," called a sweet and familiar female voice. Sam noticed Dean open his mouth as if to say something but he must have decided against it because he closed it again and looked rather sheepish. He instead spent the time loosening and tightening his tie.

The shop was old but had a very welcoming and homey vibe to it. The entire store was painted a warm orange that seemed to make the shop appear larger than it really was, and when the morning hues shown in through the front window the color lit up vibrantly. There were metal hooks of various sizes and shapes all hanging on the wall immediately to the right of the entrance. Fishing poles lined the entire left wall and tables and counters in the center of the store held many different tackle boxes and bait specimens to choose from. There were pictures everywhere of fishermen and women holding up large or sometimes very small catches but smiling and laughing all the same.

Tayla came out of a backroom smiling. "Oh, hi," she said recognizing the brothers. "What can I help you with?"

"Actually, we came to speak to your father. Is he around?" Sam asked politely.

"Oh, yes, that's right. He's out back." She indicated the door she had just come in from and bid them to follow her.

Sam looked back at his brother who was too distracted by Tayla's thin, curving figure to take notice. Sam rolled his eyes and crossed the store to the far exit.

Through the back door, Sam and Dean found themselves standing on a shaky old wooden pier. The shop opened right on to the lake and Sam noticed an old man leaning over the edge, dipping a large bucket into the water.

"Dad?" Tayla said addressing the older man. He looked up slightly startled.

"What is it, honey?" He stood up and noticed the two men with his daughter. "Early baiters?" he asked, smiling hopefully.

"No, Dad," Tayla replied. "This is Sam and Dean Werner, agents of the FBI's Environmental Hazards Department. They want to speak with you about the Sampson incident."

"Hello, sir," Sam said extending his hand to the man who shook it tightly. "We'd really appreciate a few moments of your time, if you have it to spare."

Bob Michaels surveyed Sam and Dean for a moment, much the same way his daughter had at their first meeting. He looked rather reluctant and shot a quickly hesitant glance at his daughter who smiled encouragingly before continuing and saying, "Well, shoot. With everything that's going on in the lake, not too many people are wantin' to go out fishin' as it is."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"What do I mean?" Bob repeated flabbergasted. "Boy, don't you know what's been going on 'round here? Three deaths in one month! Not to mention all those sightin's."

"We'd like to hear more," Sam said earnestly.

"Well, let's go back into the shop then and talk properly. Tayla, honey, how about some coffee for the agents."

All four of them walked back into the front part of the shop. Bob, Sam and Dean took seats around the counter while Tayla went to a coffee maker just behind the register and dug out four mugs.

"Mr. Michaels," Sam said, diving back into the inquiry, "you mentioned sightings earlier. Sightings of what exactly?"

"Well, there'd been talk around town after the first incident. Young Miss Ruthie Grant disappeared out on the lake late one night while out with her boyfriend. What was his name again, Tay?"

"Brad Lore, Dad," Tayla replied pouring out four cups of coffee. She handed one to Sam who thanked her and then passed one over to Dean. Sam saw a brief smile slide across his brother's face which he thought was returned by Tayla, but the next moment neither of them was looking at each other and Bob Michaels was talking again.

"Brad Lore, that's it!" Mr. Michaels accepted a cup of coffee from his daughter, sipped it tentatively, then continued. "They were due to be married; everyone in town was talkin' bout it for months. Well she disappeared right in front o' that Brad. He came back to town ranting 'bout some man that had shown up out on the lake in a boat next to theirs. That was weird enough since no one could think of a man matching the description Brad gave to the cops, not to mention no one had rented a boat from my neighbor that day either. But then… then he talked about this green lantern that the man had. Eerie is how he described it. Everyone thought he was crazy until he started talkin' bout that lantern. Seemed to send a chill down your spine. You just knew he'd really seen somethin'."

Mr. Michaels stopped talking and gripped his warm coffee unconsciously tighter. He stared out in front of him, dazed, for several seconds.

"Could anyone else attest for this green light at the time?" Sam asked, prompting Mr. Michaels out of his reverie.

"Uh, no," Mr. Michaels answered, screwing his eyes up in thought. "No, not at that time."

"But at another time?" Dean asked, interested.

"Well, not from him, that's for sure."

Sam and Dean waited for the man to go on but he didn't; he just sat and sipped his coffee.

"What started happening next was strange," Tayla said, picking up the story where her father had left off.

"What happened next?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.

"He died," Mr. Michaels said. "He went out on the lake, distraught, lookin' for Ruthie, not convinced she was dead. He kept sayin' something unnatural had happened out there; something not right for explanation, and I'll be damned if he wasn't right. Cops sure found no sign of that mystery man or the eerie green light, but someone else did the night Brad Lore died. Someone else saw the light and saw Brad take his swan dive into the lake, never to be seen again."

"Who?" Dean asked, but Sam had a pretty guess who Mr. Michaels was talking about.

"Shawn Sampson?"

"Right you are, son. Shawn worked as a physician's assistant at the clinic just outside of town. He lived on the complete opposite side of Long Lake and took the back roads there and back every morning and night. I used to see him every evening on his way home as I was finishing up my fishin' for the night. Well, this one night he pulls up as I was takin' my boat up to a dock and he comes a shoutin' at me, saying he saw Brad Lore fall into the lake. We rush over to where he last saw him but there was nothing there. No sign of anything; no footprints, no body, no disturbance of any kind."

"A lot of people in town thought he was losing it," Tayla chimed in. "A lot of bad things happening in his life at the time, but he was adamant about seeing a strange figure holding a green lantern, almost luring Brad away from the shore."

"Huh, that's interesting," Dean said, draining the last of his coffee. "Let me guess, no sign of the lantern the next morning and the body was never seen again?"

Tayla nodded. "The cops didn't see anything and they couldn't find anything to add support to Mr. Sampson's statement either. It had been foggy that night; they thought maybe he had been seeing things."

"Did anyone ever find any connections to the three deaths, besides the green lantern and a possible mysterious figure?" Sam asked, thinking it very strange nothing more had been done to prevent the continuous repeats.

"No. There's just not enough evidence. I mean, none of the bodies have even been found."

"What was the excuse that grazed over Sampson's death then?" Dean asked.

"Stress," Tayla answered, not at all convinced. "Paranoia. Depression."

"Typical."

"Mr. Michaels, could you tell us exactly what you saw the night Shawn Sampson died?" Sam asked, brows furrowed in curious concentration.

Mr. Michaels took a deep breath, and with a nod of encouragement from his daughter, launched into a recollection of everything that had happened five days earlier.

"Every night, just before dusk, I take to the lake in my boat; that's just when the fish are biting at their best. I've been doing it for twenty-six years now and I ain't never seen a night like that before. As soon as I hit dead middle of the lake, a heavy fog rolled in so thick I could barely see the bow of my boat. It came in so fast and just outta nowhere; no reports of it or anything. Then the strangest thing happened: my engine started to sputter and then just died."

Sam and Dean shared a knowing look which was over looked by the Michaels.

"So there I was, stranded in the middle of the lake, with no where to go, no idea of where I was driftin' off to, and nothing to do but drop a line. So that's what I did. Man, I've never gotten such a good haul before. And just when I couldn't take anymore fish onto my boat, my engine started up again. The fog was still so thick I could barely see where to go, when out of the darkness this… eerie…chillin'… green light popped up. It was just a haze at first but I motored over towards it and saw it was moving down Long Point Peer.

"I got pretty close before I heard it. Something… something I couldn't make out at first, so I cut my engine and listened as hard as I could. Well, shocked was I when I recognized the voice! It was Shawn Sampson, runnin' down the end of the peer, chasin' the green light and calling out to it!"

"Calling out to it?" Dean asked.

"What'd he say to it?" Sam inquired.

"Oddest thing. I thought he was loosing it at first too when I heard what he was saying. My, he was callin' 'Lucy'!"

"Who is Lucy?" Sam questioned.

"His poor daughter. Of course it couldn't have been her, so I sat and listened some more—"

"Wait, why couldn't it have been the daughter? Are you sure?" Dean asked looking between Bob and Tayla.

"Of course I'm sure!" Mr. Michaels exclaimed.

"She was diagnosed with Leukemia just over a year ago. She was eight years old. Shawn and his wife didn't take the news very well."

"No," Sam said, concerned. "I would think not."

"So then what happened, Mr. Michaels?"

"He kept calling out for Lucy. He sounded scared and confused and he just kept runnin'. But then I noticed that the green light he was chasing wasn't hovering over the end of the peer anymore, but was in fact stopped over the lake about 10 feet off the peer. I tried to call out to him to stop! I tried to tell him… he was just runnin' too fast and was too scared.

"He didn't fall right. I mean, he twisted and hit the water… awkwardly. I tried to start my boat up to get to him; I could just see the ripple marks on the lake's surface in the green light but he never came back up. As soon as I reached for the engine though, it sputtered just as it had earlier that evening and died. Just about the same time, the lantern disappeared and I was stuck in the darkness. I kept callin' for Shawn but I never got any answer."

"How did you get back to shore?"

"I drifted in about three miles from Long Point Peer. Tied my boat along the bank and ran to the nearest road to flag someone down. Called the cops and took 'em out there myself but they didn't find anything and they weren't very impressed with what I'd seen."

"Well, you've been a great help to us, Mr. Michaels. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us." Sam rose from his seat at the counter signaling the end of the interview.

"I'm glad someone was interested in what I had to say."

"Yes, sir, very interested," Dean replied, raising his eyebrows at Sam. "I guess we'll be going now. We've got a bit more research to do."

"Uh, Dean," Tayla said, clearing away the coffee cups, "can I show you something in the back?" Dean nodded and the two disappeared to the dock.

"Mr. Michaels if I could ask just one more favor," Sam said, pulling a map out of his pocked.

"Go right ahead."

"Could you mark on here where Long Point Peer is?"

Mr. Michaels took the map and put a little "x" on the far side of the lake from where they were right then. "It's a bit of aways out there, but Sampson's house is out that way too. Might want to stop in and offer your condolences."

"Of course," Sam said earnestly, pocketing the map as Dean and Tayla came back into the room. "Well, thanks again."

"What was that about?" Sam asked Dean when they were climbing back into the Impala.

"What?"

"What did Tayla have to show you?"

"Oh," Dean said, grinning and rubbing his chin mischievously. "Just some unfinished business."

Dean started the car while Sam watched him sideways.

"Dean!" he exclaimed suddenly, accusingly. "Tayla? Last night…? Dean!"

"Where did I put… ah, here it is!" Dean pulled the Sampson's address out of his pocket and checked an unfolded map that lay open on the dashboard, ignoring Sam altogether. Sam sighed exasperatedly.

Sam and Dean pulled up to the house the address had led them to twenty minutes later. The house was small and modest with a rot-iron gate and a large garden out front full of various flowers, giant ferns and healthy bushes.

"Well, not exactly an evil lair," Dean said stepping up to the gate, "but a little too environmentally friendly if you ask me." Dean pushed open the gate and kicked a couple vines off the sidewalk.

"Says the FBI Agent in charge of the environmental clean up…What happened to 'Go Earth'?"

"Huh? Oh, right."

They reached the forest green front door and Sam knocked three times with the brass knocker. There was a noise inside and then it squeaked open very slowly. An older woman with graying hair appeared from behind the door.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Uh, Mrs. Sampson?" Sam asked.

"Yes," she said confused.

"Ms. Sampson, we're with the FBI," Dean said while he and Sam pulled out their badges and showed them to the woman. "We need to ask you a few questions about your husband."

"My husband? But he's been dead for 20 years."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Sam was puzzled but Dean smiled, thinking the case had just taken an interesting turn.

"He didn't just pass away on Friday, ma'am? Shawn Sampson, 36?"

"Oh," the woman exclaimed as a melancholy look spread across her aged face, as well as Dean's. "You must mean my son. His wife is inside, but I'm afraid she doesn't want any visitors. I came to stay with her for a while. It's been a very difficult week."

"Yes, I'm sure, and we're very sorry for both your loss," Sam said quietly, "but it is rather important we speak with your daughter-in-law."

"That's very sweet of you," Mrs. Sampson said. "Of course, come on in. I'll tell Abby you're here."

Sam and Dean followed the woman into the house. The front door led down a narrow hallway lined on the right with a black table filled with pictures. On the left was what looked like a formal living room. The hallway ended in a dark green door at which Mrs. Sampson stopped and turned back to the boys.

"If you could just wait here while I tell her you're here."

"Of course," Sam replied. "Take your time."

Mrs. Sampson smiled gratefully and disappeared behind the door.

Dean turned his attention to the many pictures on the entryway table. He picked one up and nudged his brother.

"Our victim," he said, showing the picture of a middle-aged man with light brown hair and green eyes to his brother.

"Yeah." Sam nodded and picked up another photograph off the table. Shawn and his wife stood in the middle of the frame, the young girl Lucy in between holding hands with both her parents. Behind them was a small pontoon boat docked on a tranquil lake. "They look alright, huh."

"Yeah," Dean said, putting his picture down. "Must be hard on the girl."

Sam continued to look at the photo.

"That was taken just over a year ago."

Sam spun around so fast he almost ran into the older Mrs. Sampson. She held a small handkerchief up to dot her eyes as she looked on the picture still in Sam's hand.

"That was during a happier time."

"Again, we're very sorry," Sam said compassionately, setting the photograph back down.

"Yes," Mrs. Sampson sobbed. "Abby will see you now, through here please." She stood aside and pointed the boys to the green door at the end of the hallway.

"Thank you," Sam said, taking the lead and pushing past her and through the door, Dean on his heels.

They past through the door into a large kitchen area. An island stood in the middle of the room separating the appliances from the sitting area. A small square table was just in front of the boys as they walked in and seated with her back to them sat a young woman. She wore a baby blue robe, her hair was disheveled and she sat hunched and tired. She was staring out of the large window in front of her, unblinking, unmoving.

"Mrs. Sampson?" Dean asked, stepping forward into the room ahead of his brother. The woman didn't move. "My name is Dean Werner, this is my brother Sam. We're agents of the FBI's Environmental Hazards Department. We'd like to ask you a few follow up questions about your husband."

With her back still to the boys, she nodded. Dean looked over at Sam, hesitant, than stepped around the table so he was facing the woman. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks puffy and red.

"Mrs. Sampson," Dean started again, "when was the last time you spoke with your husband?"

The woman sat quietly for a moment but then without looking over, she answered. "I called him on his way home from work. I was mad at him because he was late for dinner."

"Did he say anything suspicious? Did he mention seeing anything odd or unnatural?" Sam asked coming to stand next to his brother.

"N-n-no," she sobbed. "He was only about ten minutes away. He should have been home…"

Abby raised her left hand to dab away tears which had begun to fall from her sore eyes. The diamond in her wedding ring glistened in the sunlight, catching Sam's eye. He watched her curiously. Something just didn't seem to make sense.

"So he was on his way home for dinner, and he seemed fine. That was the last you heard from him?"

"Until the next morning, yes."

"Until the next morning? What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"He died the night before, how could he contact you in the morning?"

"He didn't," Abby answered. "After I'd hung up with him, he called again and left a message on the answering machine. I didn't get it until the next morning… It… it was frightening."

"What did it say?" Dean questioned, curious, but a new wave of tears filled Abby's eyes and she shook her head unable to answer. Instead, she pointed at the counter past the island to where a phone lay next to an answering machine.

With a look at his brother, Dean walked over to the counter and pushed the play button on the machine.

A high pitched static screech filled the room causing Dean to wince at the noise. The static and screeching continued to play through the message but underneath it, barely audible, was the panicked voice of Shawn Sampson.

""Abby? Abby, if you're -- pick up. I -- an accident, the car won't start. Abby? Come on, I'm really not -- get out -- dinner, I swear! Someone may—"

The message cut out abruptly with a loud beep. Dean looked over at Sam and mouthed "EVP" as Sam nodded.

"Ma'am, do you mind if we make a copy of this tape?"

"There's a copy already made. It's next to the machine."

Dean looked down and saw a small cassette tape. Checking to make sure Mrs. Sampson was still staring out the window, he popped open the answering machine cover, took out the original tape and replaced it with the copy. He then pocketed the original tape inside his coat.

"Mrs. Sampson," Sam said cajolingly, "we know how hard it is to lose a loved one and we're very sorry for your loss. However, it is our belief that something may have happened to your husband. Something more than just an accident and any information you have, even just the smallest thing, may help in our investigation."

Abby didn't move. She sat quiet for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "I don't know anymore than you do."

"What about your daughter?" Dean asked and for the first time Abby's head snapped in his direction. "Would she know anything else? Can we talk to her? Lucy, isn't it?"

Abby's face contorted from grief into anger and Dean knew instantly he'd made a mistake in mentioning the daughter.

"Is that some sort of sick joke?" she shrieked at Dean. "How perverted are you!?"

Dean looked at his brother for help but Sam was just as awe-stricken as he was. He stood with his mouth half open looking from Dean to Abby, confused and uncomfortable.

"Get out of my house," Abby growled at the brothers. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Sam and Dean didn't really need the second telling. They moved quickly to the kitchen door and into the foyer. The older Mrs. Sampson stood by the front door, shock and horror etched onto her face. Dean pushed past her and opened the front door.

"We're really sorry," Sam said as he brushed by, following his brother out into the garden and back to the car.

Dean started the car before Sam had closed his door and sped away as soon as he was able.

"Well, that was weird."

"Yeah," Sam said, clearly as shaken as Dean. "Did something seem really off about that to you?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean asked. "What in the world seemed normal about that to _you_?"

"No, I mean, she was mad at her husband because he was late for dinner, but then when called back a few minutes later, she didn't answer. And she didn't get the message until the next morning."

"What are you thinking?"

"She must have gone out. She must have left and not come back until late. But where would she have gone if she was waiting for her husband to come home for dinner?"

"Somewhere with the girl," Dean said, "or she would have answered the phone."

"Right… And I know her husband just died, but did she seem a bit _too _shaken up to you?"

"Something was not right in there, that's for sure." Dean sighed and took out the answering machine tape from his coat pocket. "We definitely need to see what the heck's on this thing." He passed the tape to Sam.

"Yeah," Sam said taking the tape. "Yeah, even this sounded weird. Hey, wait a minute. Pull over."

"Here?"

"Yeah, right there."

Sam pointed up ahead and Dean pulled over onto the shoulder of the tight two-lane road. They got out and looked around. To their right was the back of Long Lake; it lapped gently against the muddy banks. To the left across the road was a thick brush and heavy tree line leading into a dark wilderness. Sam bent down and ran his hand over a few branches.

"What is it?" Dean asked, leaning against the car and watching his brother investigate the brush.

"This is where Shawn Sampson crashed." Sam pulled up a stick and tossed it to his brother. One end of it was snapped at an odd angle, clearly done by force. "The peer's just down here."

They walked about half a mile down the road where a dirt path lead off to the right and out onto a creaky wooden peer nearly fifteen feet long. The walked out to the end of it, checking for clues as they went but couldn't find anything.

Dean knelt down and looked over the end of the peer. The glassy water didn't even look like it was moving. There wasn't the slightest clue that anyone had plummeted to his death only five days previously.

"You know, Sammy, I think we may be in for an old fashioned stake-out tonight."

"Yeah," Sam replied, brushing dirt off the peer disappointedly, "I think you're right."

"Come on, let's go."

"Where to?"

"That clinic Sampson worked at. We need to figure out why he was late to dinner."

It took nearly 40 minutes to get through town and out to the clinic. It was a small building, not built for serious injuries of any kind, but good enough to keep a steady flow of slightly sick patients. The pale white stone and paint gave an ominously sterile appearance as Sam and Dean opened the front doors and walked inside.

The front of the building was cluttered with many rows of joined seating and here and there a small table was placed in between the chairs and the walls covered in a variety of magazines. They walked up to the counter and Dean unceremoniously knocked on the glass to get the receptionists attention.

The young dark haired girl behind the counter, looked up, chomping her gum, annoyed. She pulled back the glass and leaned through the window.

"Can I help?"

"Uh, yes," Dean said, nudging Sam, indicating him to play along. "My brother here has had a bad tummy ache for quite some time now, and he's starting to get worried about." Dean turned and frowned concerned at Sam.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's real bad."

"What sort of pains are you experiencing?" The girl asked, pulling out a clipboard and a pen.

Sam looked at Dean warning him to be careful but Dean just smiled quickly before the girl looked up.

"Intense cramping," Dean said gravely. "And," he leaned in close to whisper the next few words, "horrible gas pains…" He waved a hand in front of his nose and looked at her understandingly.

Under the counter Sam kicked Dean in the shin.

"Fill this out and someone will be with you shortly."

Dean took the clipboard from the woman, thanked her, and he and Sam took two seats in the waiting room.

"'Horrible gas pains'?" Sam said angrily.

"What?" Dean answered innocently. "It's a natural bodily function."

"Why can't you ever be the one with the gas pains?" Sam asked.

"'Cause you're the one that looks constipated, Harry." Dean finished filling out the form then took it back up to the counter. He sat back down and smiled at his brother.

"How exactly are you expecting to get any information out of this plan, Dean?"

"You'll see. Follow my lead."

"I don't want to. I may end up with rubella next."

"Oh, hey now that's not a bad idea."

A light blue door just to the left of the counter opened and an older woman with red hair and glass stepped through. She wore pink scrubs and carried a clipboard. "Mr. Dunne?" she called to the waiting room.

"That's him," Dean said, standing up and pointing at Sam. "Come on, Harry, need some help getting up?"

Sam shook Dean off of him and walked through the door the nurse held open.

"Hi," Dean said, holding his hand out. "I'm Lloyd."

"Nice to meet you," she replied. "You're right down here at the end of the hall."

Sam and Dean walked into the room straight ahead. Like everything else, the inside was painted a dull white. There were two blue chairs against the right wall and an examining table in the center of the room covered in a long sheet of tissue paper.

"Dr. Hammond will be right in."

"Oh, uh, where's Dr. Sampson?" Dean asked, mocking confusion. "We talked to him last time we were here."

The nurse looked as if she was about to cry for a moment. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but Dr. Sampson passed away last Friday."

"Oh no," Dean exclaimed as Sam played into the shock and deep concern as well. "I'm so sorry to hear that. How did it happen?"

"Car accident," the nurse said quietly. "So sad… if he'd only stayed at the office a bit longer he wouldn't have had to go home, but he was rushing home for dinner as he did so often."

"What do you mean if he'd only stayed longer?" Sam asked.

"Well, about twenty minutes after he left, his wife came in with their daughter."

"How are Mrs. Sampson and Lucy taking the blow?" Dean questioned.

"Oh my, sir, but surely you know?"

"Know what?" Sam said, feeling that more of the puzzle was unfolding.

"Well the night of the accident, Mrs. Sampson brought Lucy to the hospital. Her condition had worsened severely."

"She has leukemia, right?"

"Had, my dear."

"What, was it some sort of miraculous recovery the same night her father passed on?" Dean said eagerly, hoping the case had once again become interesting. "Something that can't be explained?"

"No, no nothing like that… If only it had been…"

"I'm sorry," Dean said, frowning. "I don't think I quite understand."

"Son, Lucy is dead. She passed away the same night as her father. God rest their souls."


End file.
